Forever Wild (Wildcat Hockey Book 5)

Four weeks earlier

Snow falls on the windshield in big, thick flakes. I round the final curve of the winding road and slow in front of the darkened house.

“Thanks for the ride. I’m sorry you had to drive so far out of your way.” Nick unbuckles as I pull to a stop.

Ignoring the aches and pains from the game, I shift forward in my seat and wave off his appreciation. “It was no problem.”

He shoots a crooked smile at me as he opens the passenger door. Light floods down into the interior of my car, making the skepticism in his expression more present. “I owe you. I should have known that old truck wasn’t going to make it through another Minnesota winter.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I told you a dozen times, I don’t mind.” I truly don’t. It’s all part of the job. I’d do anything for him or any other guy on my team. I make their lives easier and that lets them focus on showing up every day to play their best hockey.

“Now you can listen to your music without judgment.” He shakes his head at me before getting out of the vehicle.

“I don’t care what you say, that song just hits,” I say in defense of the Sabrina Carpenter song on my playlist.

He laughs, shaking his head, as he gets his bag from the back seat. While he does that, I glance around at the soundless, forested area. Even the snow seems to fall quieter out here as if not to intrude on the stillness of nature. There isn’t another house in sight for miles. “It’s awfully quiet out here.”

“Just how I like it,” Nick says as he stands next to the car, snowflakes falling onto his black beanie and coat.

I’ve always liked having community, friends, teammates, even neighbors, but I can see the appeal of this too. A man has to have a certain level of peace within himself to enjoy this sort of tranquility, and I guess I’ve never had that. Still, I can appreciate it.

The porch light turns on and we both glance toward it. An older man stands with Nick’s little boy just inside the glass door. Aidan has a mess of dark hair the same color as his father’s and a stuffed bear, tan with a blue bowtie, clutched in one hand.

Nick’s grin widens at the sight of his son and he spares me only a short glance as he says, “Thanks again for the ride.”

“Any time.”

He shuts the door and hurries up to the front of his house to pull his son into his arms. The little boy wraps himself around Nick’s neck as he’s carried into the house and then the door shuts, blocking out their happy reunion.

I let out a long breath as the exhaustion of the past week finally seeps in. Three road games in six days. I’m glad to be home, even if the weather is doing its best to keep me away a little longer.

Pulling back onto the road, I turn up the music.

“This song really is a bop,” I say quietly to myself as Sabrina’s voice fills the cab.

The snow blankets the narrow road and my headlights cut through the darkness. I make my way back slowly, stretching my neck side to side and rolling my shoulders back to ease the tension. I took a couple of hard hits in tonight’s game and I feel about ten years older than my thirty-two years.

At the end of the season, the aches and pains always feel worse, but come summer I’ll be missing it like usual.

As I’m taking a corner, I feel the tires of my G-Wagon slide on a slick spot. My SUV usually does okay in the snow, but the roads were already icy before this snowfall started.

Despite how badly I want to be home, take a hot shower, and climb into bed with ice packs strapped to my body, I force myself to slow down. Nick lives in the middle of nowhere, so everyone else should have already made it home. Still, I press a button on the steering wheel and send a group text to the guys to make sure no one else had any problems.

The messages back come in quickly. Thumbs up, “All good, Captain,” and a variety of other replies, indicating my teammates managed in the snowy weather conditions.

Most of the team either grew up in areas with snow or moved to one for hockey, but every year we have one or two guys coming from Southern California or Florida that are surprised by the amount of snow that gets dumped on us during the winter season.

Or spring in this case. It’s April but it seems winter wasn’t quite done with us.

With everyone else taken care of, I run through everything I need to do while making my way carefully over the dark, icy roads. It’s late in the season and playoffs begin in less than two weeks. Which means there are no days off. We’ll have tomorrow free from scrimmage, but there are still a million other things to do. Keeping everyone healthy is imperative, and part of that is skating even when we’re tired. Keep the body loose, stay in routine.

This year feels special. Words I’ve thought a dozen times recently but haven’t spoken out loud. I’ve played on a lot of great teams that haven’t won the last game of the season. I know that it takes a mixture of talent and luck, but I still can’t shake the feeling that this group has that spark of magic. We can do it. I know we can. Our team is talented and full of heart. We just have to stay focused. I plan to make that as easy as possible for everyone.

I’m lost in thought as the main road finally comes back into view. I roll my neck and shoulders again. First thing tomorrow I need to get in with the team therapist so I’m ready to go come Wednesday. We get two days to prepare for our next game. Just enough time to patch up any injuries, rest, and plan for our opponent.

While breathing a sigh of relief that I’m one road closer to home, movement catches my attention off to the left side just beyond the tree line. Tensing reactively, my grip tightens on the steering wheel but that’s all I manage to do before the buck sprints in front of my vehicle.

Shit.

I slam on the brakes and cut the wheel to the right. Things I know aren’t ideal in these conditions, but neither is crashing into the big animal darting inches from my front fender.

The deer manages to escape unscathed, but my relief is short-lived as the back end of my SUV spins around and I slide quickly toward the tree-lined landscape beyond the paved road. I try helplessly to slow down and veer back on course, but it’s no use. My SUV heads straight for the rough forest area, soaring like it’s on skates. Panic surges through me as I fight for control.

“No,” I plead to no one and anyone. The only answer is the sound of my tires bumping across the rocky terrain as they finally find purchase and then the slam of the front of my vehicle against a tree. White hot pain splinters through me as the crash echoes in the quiet forest.

Then, silence.